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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728402">pen to a knife fight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Botanical Garden Dates, Dejun's eyebrows as their own character, Domesticity, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Study Date, Written Confessions, picnic dates, this fic is what happens when you force two leo boys in a room together, writing together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:14:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26728402</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dejun Xiao. Bleached blonde hair, nose ring wearing Dejun Xiao. Mark knew exactly his type.<br/>Overachiever, complete show-off, and probably thought he was a character in <i>Dead Poet’s Society.</i> Mark hasn't liked him since he stepped foot into this class, at least now, he had a reason to. </p><p>In which Mark is a pretentious writer and so is Dejun. Put them in the same creative writing elective together and watch sparks fly— or flames ignite.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Lee/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>PRODEBUTER FEST - ROUND 01</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>pen to a knife fight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>#PDF035: Mark's in uni taking up journalism. A twist of fate (and bad luck) has him taking the last spot in a creative writing elective. He meets Xiao Dejun - a writer of all sorts, mostly known for his poetry and expressive works. Technical meets expressive and love ensues.</p><p>thank you so much to the prompter, i literally fell in love with this prompt as soon as I saw it and ran away with it. I'm quite fond (and heavily exasperated) with both mark and dejun in this fic, i hope i managed to do the prompt justice!!</p><p>thank you to the pdf mods!!! yall are awesome [blows you a kiss]</p><p>please listen to van horn by saint motel while you read this, it's relevant. </p><p>hope you all like this!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you asked Mark Lee for his thoughts on poetry, he would say he didn’t think about poetry to begin with. If you forced Mark into a classroom where they did nothing but write and study poetry and then proceed to ask him for his thoughts on it, he would reply with a dry <em> fuck you.  </em></p><p>It’s safe to say that Creative Writing 101 isn’t going well for Mark. His semester break was spent interning at the magazine company his cousin worked at (<em> thank you nepotism!). </em>His days were occupied with doing coffee runs and gracefully kissing his boss’ ass in hopes that he would be secured a job there after graduation. In the midst of it all, it had completely slipped Mark’s mind to apply for his classes. Thus leading to a terribly inconvenient schedule and getting saddled with taking a creative writing elective. </p><p>So here he is, sitting in his Creative Writing class and struggling to get words down for a stupid activity. It’s bad enough that he had to listen to his professor drone on about the <em> essence of a poet </em> for an hour, but now he has to discover his own essence. Search for the poet within himself. Mark isn’t interested in searching for <em> anything </em>within himself. </p><p>He takes a minute of silence to mourn what could have been a breezy semester of economics or political sciences. You know, something actually worth his time. </p><p>“Would anyone like to share with the class?” the professor asks. </p><p>She’s a lovely woman. She prefers that her students call her Krystal rather than Professor Jung. She wears colourful flowy skirts and every few weeks she comes to class with a fresh new hair colour. Despite his qualms about the subject, Mark is fond of her. He looks down at his google document in shame. It was completely empty, save for a list of words that rhymed. <em> Cat, bat, hat, mat, sat. </em>Mark isn’t exaggerating when he says he doesn’t have a single creative bone in his body. He can’t share any of this with the class. </p><p>A few students raise their hands and Mark doesn’t even have to look to guess whose hand shoots up first. </p><p>“Dejun Xiao!” Krystal says cheerily, “Come on up,” </p><p>Mark represses the urge to scoff. Dejun Xiao stands up, smoothing out his already crisp white sweater and walks to the front of the class. He opens up his notebook, leatherbound and expensive looking, and begins reciting his poem to the class. This is usually when Mark tunes out. </p><p>Dejun Xiao. Bleached blonde hair, nose ring wearing Dejun Xiao. Mark knew his type.</p><p>Overachiever, complete show-off, and probably thought he was a character in <em> Dead Poet’s Society. </em>Mark hasn’t liked this guy’s vibes since he started this class. </p><p>Mark sits idly while the minutes tick by and different classmates read out their poems. By the time class ends, he’s found fourteen words that rhyme with cat and has successfully avoided presenting. He’s quick to pack up his things when Krystal finally dismisses them. </p><p>Dejun Xiao––as in the very same Dejun Xiao who he was just taking apart in his head––approaches Mark as he stands up from his chair. Mark stops short, wondering for a split second if Dejun was a mind-reader. He shakes off the thought and returns Dejun’s timid smile with one of his own. </p><p>“Hey,” Dejun greets, hands gripped tightly onto the strap of his satchel. The confidence from his earlier performance was clearly washed away, “You’re Mark Lee, right?”</p><p>Mark nods, a little confused and a lot caught off-guard. From seeing the other boy in front of the class everyday, Mark could tell that he was undeniably attractive. But seeing him up close, that’s a whole other story. Up close, he’s chiseled cheekbones, smooth looking skin and gentle eyes. He’s pretty in a way that makes Mark’s hands sweat, he wipes his hands on his jeans and hopes the boy doesn’t notice. </p><p>Dejin’s smile grows, “I’m Dejun,”</p><p>“I know,” Mark replies, his tone coming out more hostile than intended. He really had no idea what he was doing. </p><p>Dejun’s perfectly shaped eyebrows are pulled downwards, “Oh, cool. Anyways, I noticed you joined our class pretty late so if you need help catching up or anything, let me know,” </p><p>“I’m good, thanks though,” Mark says, walking past the boy to leave the classroom. </p><p>However, Dejun follows him out. </p><p>“Wait!” he calls out. Mark turns around, trying his best to suppress a frustrated groan. He has a debate club meeting to get to. </p><p>“What?” he asks, crossing his arms. This time the hostility in his voice was intended. It doesn’t matter how pretty this dude is, Mark isn’t a charity case. </p><p>“Let me give you my number, in case you need my help later on in the semester,” </p><p>Mark raises an eyebrow, “Did you not hear me the first time? I said I’m good,”</p><p>“Yeah but––”</p><p>“I assure you that I won’t need help writing a stupid poem or whatever else is required in this joke of a class. So you can leave me alone now.” The words come out before Mark can filter himself. </p><p>Dejun’s eyebrows shoot up, an insulted look painting his perfect face. The gentle look in his eyes that Mark was just admiring is replaced with something more furious. </p><p>“I was just being nice because Krystal noticed you’re struggling and asked me to help you out.” Dejun begins, “But you’re not struggling, are you? You’re just a dickhead who refuses to make an effort. Have fun flunking, asshole,” </p><p>He shoves Mark’s shoulder as he storms past, leaving Mark red in the face and annoyed that the other boy got the last word. </p><p> </p><p>The incident lingers in Mark’s mind as the days go on. Mark makes no attempt to reconcile with Dejun, though, instead he settles for returning the boy’s dirty looks with ones of his own. By the end of the week, Mark manages to make an enemy out of an inhumanely gorgeous boy as well as zero progress on his poem for class. </p><p>It’s a late Friday evening. The setting sun paints Mark’s room in bright orange hues while he sits on his bed and writes his article for the school paper. He had to fight tooth and nail to earn a spot on the opinion column of the paper, so he took his job incredibly seriously. (Plus he was using it to procrastinate getting actual uni work done, i.e. creative writing assignment). Mark is in the zone, typing his soul away onto the document and letting nothing interrupt him. Until Jeno barges into his room. </p><p>“Why aren’t you ready?” Jeno asks. </p><p>“Ready for what?” Mark says halfheartedly, without looking up from his laptop. </p><p>“Did you seriously forget?” Jeno accuses, “We’re getting dinner with Donghyuck and his new boyfriend, he’s only been talking about it <em> all week. </em>”</p><p>This grabs Mark’s attention away from his laptop. </p><p>“Oh, shit!” he says, pushing his laptop away and scrambling up from his bed. He goes through his closet in search of something decent to wear for this dinner. </p><p>Jeno, who was already dressed in a tight fitting skirt and a navy coat, flops onto Mark’s bed and makes himself comfortable. </p><p>“I can’t believe you forgot,” he comments, picking up Mark’s laptop to read over his work. </p><p>Mark doesn’t know how to tell his roommate that his brain has forgotten everything important in his life and only plays flashbacks of his conversation with Dejun, over and over and over––</p><p>“Don’t wear that,” Jeno says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Mark observes the hoodie he just pulled out of his closet and frowns. </p><p>“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, “I’ve had it since high school,”</p><p>“And it shows,”</p><p>Mark groans. Living with a fashion design major was a nightmare sometimes. </p><p>“Wear your black floral button down with some jeans, it make you look hot,” </p><p>Mark waggles his eyebrows, “You think I’m hot?” </p><p>“Oh totally,” Jeno says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’m <em> super </em> attracted to guys who spend all their free time writing about––” he pauses to read off Mark’s laptop, “–– <em> the ethically gray decisions you make when you buy Supreme,”  </em></p><p>Mark reaches over to shut his laptop and scowls at Jeno.</p><p>“It’s important for people to be aware of this stuff!” </p><p>“You know what else is important?” Jeno shoots back, “having a life. You should try it sometimes,” </p><p>“Whatever,” Mark grumbles. </p><p>He changes into the clothes that Jeno told him to wear, he would get an earful of complaints if he didn’t. He listens to Jeno talk about his day while he gets ready, chiming in occasionally with replies of his own. </p><p>If Mark made a list of all his friends––not that he’s ever done that––he would put Jeno on the top of the list. Underlined and in bold. They have been friends for their entire lives, one is never without the other. In high school, Mark was only sure of two things: his passion was journalism and he wanted to live with Jeno after graduation. Ideally for the rest of their lives, if neither of them found love which was honestly very possible. So they both spent their final years of high school and their summers working their asses off to afford their small but homey apartment. </p><p>Mark grabs the keys from his desk, “Let’s go,” </p><p>Jeno hops up from the bed and fixes his hair, which he always styled to look <em> just </em>the right amount of messy. Mark catches a glimpse of his own hair in the mirror. It was just messy. </p><p>“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you or do I have to pry?” Jeno asks as they leave the apartment. Mark pulls on the door handle to double check if it’s locked, avoiding Jeno’s eye contact. </p><p>“Nothing’s bothering me,” he replies, leading the way to the elevator. </p><p>“So I have to pry,” Jeno states. The elevator dings and the doors open. “It’s cute that you still think you can get away with lying to me,” </p><p>Mark sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Please drop it Jen, it’s really stupid,” </p><p>“It’s probably not stupid but fine, I’ll drop it,” Jeno replies. </p><p>“Thank you.” </p><p>The darkened night sky welcomes them when they leave the apartment building. The restaurant they’re meeting their other friends at is close to their house, so they decide to walk. Jeno was right earlier, Donghyuck has been buzzing with excitement for this dinner all week. He’s been dating Yukhei for a few weeks now and the boy was all he talked about. Mark is excited too, curious as to who had gotten Donghyuck whipped enough to fawn over them in the way that he did. </p><p>The two of them arrive at the restaurant, an expensive Indian place decorated with fairy lights and dim lighting. Donghyuck is already there with Jaemin and Renjun, he waves them over to the table. </p><p>“Are we early or is your boyfriend just late?” Jeno jokes lamely as he takes his seat. Mark bends down to give Donghyuck a one armed hug before sitting next to Jeno. There’s four empty seats across from them. </p><p>Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “Yukhei’s late, he’s picking his friends up first,”</p><p>Mark greets the other two and the conversation quickly escalates as Jaemin begins firing Donghyuck with questions about his elusive boyfriend. It isn’t long before they’re the loudest table in the restaurant, which is usually typical for them. </p><p>Mark met Donghyuck on orientation day. He had volunteered as a student ambassador to show the new kids around and Donghyuck, fresh out of high school, asked him for directions to the science building. Despite already being in college for a year, Mark had no idea where anything was except for his own building. He offered to help Donghyuck anyway, resulting in the two of them getting lost on campus and forming a lasting friendship.</p><p>As for Jaemin and Renjun, they’re on the paper with Mark. Jaemin runs the gossip column, and is very good at it despite having no interest in journalism, while Renjun is the editor. </p><p>“They’re here!” Donghyuck says cheerily, interrupting Renjun mid-conversation. Mark follows his gaze, he’s seen pictures of Yukhei before but it’s nothing like the real thing. He is indeed, as handsome as Donghyuck claims. Yukhei’s friends are with him. Mark widens his eyes as he recognises a familiar face within the group. There he is: Dejun Xiao. Standing next to Yukhei, dressed in a tight shirt with his arms linked with one of the other boys. Mark whips his head back around before the boy can notice him. </p><p>“Jesus, do attractive people just herd together?” Jaemin mumbles under his breath. Donghyuck shoots him a smug smile in return and calls out Yukhei’s name to wave them over. </p><p>“Jeno,” Mark hissed, ducking down and leaning closer to Jeno until their heads are almost touching. </p><p>“What?” the boy replies. </p><p>“Remember when you asked me what was bothering me and I told you that I accidentally made an enemy out of the pretty boy in my creative writing class?” Mark rushes out. </p><p>“Um, that was definitely not what happened but why are you bringing this up now?”</p><p>“Well, because––”</p><p>They’re interrupted by the screech of Donghyuck’s chair as he stands up, greeting Yukhei with a kiss. </p><p>“Guys, this is my boyfriend Yukhei,” he introduces, grinning from ear to ear, “Yukhei this is Mark, Jeno, Renjun and Jaemin,” </p><p>“Nice to meet you guys!” Yukhei says goodnaturedly. He gestures to his friends, “This is Yangyang, Kunhang and Dejun,” </p><p>The boys take their seat. Mark keeps his head ducked and avoids eye contact, silently praying that Dejun doesn’t notice him. But of course, the universe must hate him for some completely undeserving reason because Dejun takes the seat across from Mark. They make eye contact as soon as he sits down and Dejun’s jaw honest-to-god drops. </p><p>“You!” he spits out, pointing an accusing finger at Mark. Everyone halts their conversation at Dejun’s outburst, Mark shrinks under the sudden attention. </p><p>“Hey,” Mark says, waving awkwardly. </p><p>“Do you guys already know each other?” Donghyuck asks. </p><p>Jeno lets out a quiet <em> oh </em> as he belatedly connects the dots. </p><p>“Kind of–– we, um–– have a class together,” Mark says. </p><p>Dejun huffs, his glare at Mark is unwavering, “Yeah, something like that,”</p><p>He turns to the boy beside him––Yangyang, Mark assumes––and says, “Remember that asshole I told you about from my creative writing class?”</p><p>Jaemin chokes on his glass of water. Yukhei’s eyes widen. Donghyuck shoots Mark a questioning look. </p><p>It takes everything in Mark not to go off right there, in the middle of this restaurant. Dejun is clearly baiting him, throwing him a challenge. He wants to respond, he wants to argue. Years of picking fights with pro-life protesters have made him an experienced debater, he’s going to come out of this challenge as a victor. But there’s this tiny voice in his head, reminding him that this is Donghyuck’s special dinner and it’s bad etiquette to pick a fight with your best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend. </p><p>So instead, he forces a smile at Dejun.</p><p>“It’s lovely to see you again, Dejun!” he says through gritted teeth, “I almost didn’t recognise you without that stick up your ass,”</p><p>Okay, so maybe Mark’s pride overpowered his good etiquette, just a little bit. Before Dejun can respond with a jab of his own and escalate things, Mark turns to smile at Yukhei. </p><p>“It’s very nice to meet you, Donghyuck has been singing your praises all week,” the boy in question gives an embarrassed squeak, “What did you say your major was?”</p><p>Yukhei nervously looks from Dejun to Mark. He clears his throat and answers, effectively loosening up the atmosphere. Mark lets out a heavy breath. </p><p>The waitress comes around shortly after. Yukhei orders them a round of beer and Mark orders an extra shot for himself. There’s no way he’s getting through this night sober. He even steals half of Jeno’s beer, much to the boy’s distaste. It’s better that Jeno stays sober anyway, he’s overtly flirty when intoxicated and it’s best that he doesn’t try to sleep his way through Yukhei’s friend group. </p><p>Dejun, on the other hand, doesn’t touch his drink and sends Mark menacing glares every time he opens his mouth to speak. Yukhei and his other friends are nice, Mark wonders if Dejun is just the unfortunate bad seed that they had to keep around. Each dirty look, accompanied with a scoff or eye roll sent by Dejun meant another sip of alcohol taken by Mark. By the time they order dessert, he’s dangerously tip-toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. It would’ve looked bad if Renjun and Yangyang weren’t flat out drunk themselves. </p><p>After the waiter takes down their dessert orders, Donghyuck stands up from his chair. </p><p>“I’m going to step outside for uh, a cigarette, Mark will you join me?” </p><p>Mark lifts his head up from where it’s rested on Jeno’s shoulder and furrows his eyebrows.</p><p>“But you don’t sm––”</p><p>“Let’s go, Mark,” Donghyuck insists, cutting him off and dragging Mark out of his seat. He allows the other boy to pull him out of the restaurant, he isn’t entirely sure that he can move his limbs on his own. </p><p>The winter air pricks as their skin when they step outside, Donghyuck lets go of Mark and he stumbles slightly.</p><p>“What’s going on with you and the ice prince over there?” Donghyuck demands. </p><p>Mark giggles airily, “Ice prince, that’s a good one,”</p><p>“God, you’re drunk,” Donghyuck mutters.</p><p>The corners of Mark’s mouth tug downwards, “I’m sorry,” he says, almost whining, “Dejun kept glaring at me so I kept drinking,”</p><p>Donghyuck sighs, “I know most of your relationships start off with antagonism, but do you care to tell me why Dejun hates you?”</p><p>“First of all, that’s not true,” Mark defends. Donghyuck only responds with a pointed look, as if saying <em> think about it. </em>So he does, and the jarring truth of his friend’s statement settles in unpleasantly. His first conversation with Renjun was an argument over the school paper, he spent the majority of middle school in a feud with Jeno. As for Jaemin, Mark still has beef with him every now and again. </p><p>“Oh…” Mark trails off, he shakes his head, “This is different, Dejun and I will not be pursuing a friendship anytime soon,” </p><p>“<em> Sure </em>,” Donghyuck says in an all-knowing tone that Mark doesn’t appreciate, “So why does he hate you?”</p><p>“He may have offered to tutor me in creative writing and I may have been a hostile asshole to him in return,”</p><p>Donghyuck is silent for a moment, comprehending the true weight of Mark’s reply. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Mark,”</p><p>“If I knew he was friends with your boyfriend I wouldn’t have been so mean!” </p><p>“That’s not the point–– god, nevermind,” he massages the bridge of his nose, “You need to fix things with Dejun. I really like Yukhei and his best friend hating my best friend doesn’t bode well for me,”</p><p>Mark’s frown deepens, the thought of<em> apologising </em> makes his stomach curl with nausea. </p><p>Donghyuck must sense his reluctance because he pulls out his most lethal weapon: his pout. </p><p>“<em> Please Mark,” </em> he says, grabbing Mark’s hand and jutting his bottom lip out, “Things with Yukhei are perfect and I want it to stay that way so will you <em> please </em> put aside your pride and make nice with Dejun, <em> for me? </em>”</p><p>Mark groans, pulling his hand away from Donghyuck grip. </p><p>“<em> Fine, </em>” he relents, “Only because I want you to be happy or whatever,” </p><p>Donghyuck grins victoriously, “Thank you!” he cheers, wrapping his arm around Mark and pulling him in for a hug, “I love how that works every single time,”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Mark mumbles over the boy’s laughter, “You’re buying me another drink.” </p><p> </p><p>And so, on a dreadful Monday morning, Mark stands outside his creative writing lecture with two cups of coffee in each hand, working up the nerve to <em> make nice </em>with Dejun. He walks in and spots the boy immediately, he’s wearing a bright pink shirt, a splash of colour among the dull classroom. Luckily, the seat next to Dejun is empty. Students were still slowly trickling into the 8am class. He notices Mark approaching him and looks up, scowling immediately. </p><p>“What do you want?” he asks. </p><p>Mark holds out the cup of coffee, “Peace offering?” </p><p>“I don’t drink coffee,” Dejun says, looking back down at his notebook. </p><p>Mark huffs and places the coffee cup on the table anyway. He takes the seat next to Dejun.</p><p>“Look, man.” Mark starts, “We need to figure out how to get along, for the sake of our friends,”</p><p>Dejun sighs and looks back at Mark, “Yukhei asked me about it after dinner, I swear disappointing him is worse than disappointing my own mother,” </p><p>Mark snorts, “Donghyuck talked to me about it too,” </p><p>There’s a long pause. Then Dejun sticks his hand out. </p><p>“Let’s call a truce. We can put this all behind us for the sake of our friends––” Mark reaches out to shake Dejun’s hand in agreement, “––if you apologise,” Mark rips his hand away immediately. </p><p>“<em> Me apologise?” </em> he asks incredulously, “I’m not the <em> only one </em>in the wrong here,” </p><p>“What do I have to say sorry for?” Dejun says, sounding offended at the accusation, “You were the one acting like an asshole,” </p><p>“Maybe so. But<em> you’re </em>the one who got our friends involved by causing a scene at dinner,”</p><p>“I’m not apologising for shit,” Dejun declares, crossing his arms. </p><p>Mark realises with horror that he’s found someone just as stubborn as he is. Dejun has sunk his teeth into his decision and is not letting go. If he isn’t letting go, then neither isMark. It’s a match made in the grimiest, iciest chasm of hell.  </p><p>“Okay, here’s a compromise,” Mark tries once more. Donghyuck’s pleading expression replays in his head like a tortuous broken record, “Let’s both say sorry at the same time,”</p><p>The room fills up with more people. They both stare at each other and say nothing. Mark groans. </p><p>“Here’s a better compromise,” Dejun says, “Neither of us apologise and we just move on. We can forget this entire thing and next time our friend groups hang out, I won’t plan your murder in my head.”</p><p>He sticks his hand out again. Mark ponders over the compromise, it’s good enough for him. He gets to keep his pride. So he shakes Dejun’s hand and that is that. </p><p>The boy goes back to his notebook, Mark pulls his laptop out of his bag. Krystal starts the class. </p><p>Halfway through their class, Dejun leans over into Mark’s space and whispers, </p><p>“For the record, I still think you’re an asshole,”</p><p>Mark scoffs, his next words come out tasting bitter, “You don’t know anything about me,”</p><p>Dejun points at Mark’s pathetic looking Google Doc. Mark lowers the brightness on his laptop. </p><p>“I know you’re failing this class and you’re too proud to admit it. I know you think you’re better than everyone here. Let me guess, STEM kid, right?”</p><p>Mark fixes Dejun with a glare of his own. He’s had it up to <em> here </em>with this guy. </p><p>“<em> I know </em>that you’re some pretentious fake-deep hipster who thinks he’s always right. Which you’re not, by the way, I’m a journalism major.”</p><p>Dejun’s eyes widen, the shock filtering out some of the resentment behind his brown eyes. </p><p>“So you’re a writer too?” </p><p>“Yeah, except I write about important things,”</p><p>“And I’m the pretentious one here?” Dejun says, chucking to himself like it’s an inside joke that Mark isn’t in on. “Expressive writing is just as important as technical writing. I’m sorry you lack the emotional depth to realise that, at least I’m not a robot who churns current events out of my ass.” </p><p>There’s something about Dejun’s words that cut harshly through Mark’s skin. Under the insults and bitterness, there is a thinly veiled truth that Mark doesn’t want to hear. After all, there’s a reason that Mark is struggling with this class.</p><p>However, he isn’t about to give Dejun this win, so he opens his mouth to throw another insult. </p><p>“Mark, Dejun,” Krystal’s voice booms loudly across the class. Cutting Mark off before he can speak, “Do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”</p><p>They both mumble embarrassed <em> no’s </em>and Krystal goes back to teaching.</p><p>“We’re supposed to be getting along, not arguing,” Mark mutters, eyes still trained on his laptop. </p><p>He hears Dejun sigh, “It’s gonna take me a minute.”</p><p> </p><p>Mark vows not to sit next to Dejun for any lessons after that. There’s something about the unfiltered honesty that came out of the boy’s mouth that is so unnerving. He’s intrigued but afraid. So it’s best to avoid him. Besides, he has more important things to worry about than the great mystery that is Dejun Xiao. Like the great mystery of getting a good grade in this stupid elective. </p><p>They’re getting their graded poems back in class. After a solid week of procrastinating and a couple hours spent in the depths of the night, scribbling down whatever garbage he could come up with, Mark had handed his poem in with absolutely no confidence. So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he got the worst grade in the class. It didn’t make it any less devastating though. Mark stares at the D- grade next to his poem, feeling completely dejected. The good thing about this class was that Krystal didn’t believe in failing her students. She claimed that self expression was never worth a failing grade. But based on the frowny face drawn next to his grade, Mark assumes that she gave him a pity pass. This class is seriously tanking his almost spotless GPA. </p><p>He shoves the incriminating assignment into the depths of his backpack. A few tables away from him, he sees Dejun neatly put his things away. He glowers at the back of the boy’s head. He probably got an A+.</p><p>Mark takes a deep breath, giving himself a second to push down all the dignity he’s been hellbent on keeping. He stands up from his seat and jogs to catch up with Dejun. </p><p>“You were right,” he says. Dejun whips his head around, a bewildered expression on his face. </p><p>“Excuse me?” he asks. Mark has a suspicion that the boy didn’t mishear but he repeats himself anyway.</p><p>“I said, you were right,” he stomps down the lingering flames of fight left in him and says, “I lack emotional depth and I can’t express myself and I’m failing this class because of it,” </p><p>Dejun responds with a sarcastic smile, “Happy realisation, you’re officially the last to know,” he turns to walk away. </p><p>“Wait,” Mark grabs his arm but lets go when Dejun gives him a scary look. His eyebrows may be his most intimidating feature, “Remember when you <em> kindly </em>offered to help me?”</p><p>Dejun looks at Mark like he’s the most unbelievable creature he’s ever come across. And maybe he is. </p><p>“So now you want my help? That’s fucking rich,” he says, “That offer expired a long time ago,”</p><p>“Look,” Mark says. Every bone in his body warns him against his next words, “I’m sorry,”</p><p>“What? Come again?” Dejun says, a smile growing on his face.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Mark grits out, he really hates his life right now. “You know, for being an asshole or whatever,”</p><p>“Wow, that looked like it hurt to say. You must be really desperate,” Dejun replies, sounding like he’s enjoying this too much. </p><p>“Find someone else to help you man,” Dejun continues, “I’m not dealing with all this,” he gestures to Mark’s general vicinity and then walks away before Mark can get another word in. </p><p>Mark leaves class that day, not only humiliated that he wasted an apology on Dejun, but also mad that the other boy had once again got the last word in. </p><p>Later that night, when Mark is watching a movie with Jeno, he gets a text:</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Unknown Number:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> i’ll help u, i guess </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> um  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> who dis </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Unknown Number:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> it’s dejun  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> yukhei got me your number from donghyuck </em>
</p><p>
  <em> i’ll help you with CW </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You: </b>
</p><p>
  <em> what's with the sudden change of heart? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Unknown Number:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> felt guilty </em>
</p><p>
  <em> believe it or not, i have a moral compass </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> … </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Unknown Number:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> ok fine. yukhei told me off for being mean </em>
</p><p>
  <em> hes the closest i have to a moral compass </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>You:</strong>
</p><p>
  <em> regardless, im thankful </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Unknown Number:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> yeah yeah u can thank me by buying me more coffee </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> u said u dont drink coffee??? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Unknown Number:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> i only said that to be a dick </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>You:</b>
</p><p>
  <em> jfc  </em>
</p><p>Mark changes Dejun’s contact name to <em> Dickhead from class.  </em></p><p> </p><p>The university spent a generous amount of money on the office for the school paper. It’s a lavish space, decorated with leather couches and a fireplace that doesn’t open. The walls are covered with bookshelves and computers were lined up across the room, along with desks for everyone who worked there. There are bulletin boards, a coffee machine and an expensive printer which had <em> colour options. </em>What’s most impressive though, is the editor’s office. Bordered by glass and expensive wood. There’s a rich mahogany desk and a long leather couch which Mark loved to lounge on. He doesn’t understand why Renjun needs an office this grand, or a large whiteboard bolted into one of the walls. But he isn’t going to complain, not when Renjun lets him hang out here whenever he needs to. </p><p>“This is good, Mark,” Renjun says from his desk, where he’s reading the article Mark wrote for this week's issue. </p><p>Mark hums from where he is sitting in the chair opposite of Renjun. His feet are kicked up on the desk while he plays a game on his phone. </p><p>“I know,” he says. </p><p>He doesn’t have to look up to know Renjun is rolling his eyes. </p><p>“This is why I hate complimenting you,” the younger boy replies. </p><p>Mark looks up and shoots him a wink. </p><p>“But seriously,” he asks, “Any feedback?”</p><p>“You mean other than the last four times you asked me for feedback?” Renjun muses, “I’m serious Mark, this is good. Don’t overthink it,”</p><p>“Don’t you know me at all, Renjun?” Mark says dramatically, “All I do is overthink,”</p><p>“That’s not my problem,” Renjun replies nonchalantly, “This is publishing material, and thank god for that because everyone else has been slacking.”</p><p>Mark can’t help but feel smug at that. This is a win he needs considering, he’s losing at every other aspect in his life. </p><p>“Awesome, I look forward to seeing it on the paper,” he stands up from his seat, “I have to go though, I’m meeting up with Dejun,”</p><p>“Dejun?” Renjun asks curiously, “The guy that hates you?” </p><p>Embarrassment sparks up inside Mark at the reminder that all his friends were witnesses to just how much Dejun hates him.</p><p>“We sort of came to an agreement,” he says. </p><p>Renjun snorts, like the entire thing amused him. </p><p>“Alright sure, have <em> fun </em>with Dejun.” </p><p>Dejun is already waiting for Mark when he leaves the office. Tapping his foot impatiently and hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel in a tight grip. </p><p>“Why didn’t you come inside?” Mark asks in lieu of a greeting.</p><p>The other boy shrugs, “The room looks so fancy, it’s kind of intimidating,”</p><p>“<em> You’re </em> intimidated?” Mark says in shock. </p><p>His eyebrows pull into a frown. <em> Oh no, </em> Mark thinks, <em> he’s even pretty when he frowns.  </em></p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Mark says, “You just have this intimidating aura, you’re like the human equivalent of this room,”</p><p>Dejun gives him a funny look, like he’s amused. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you suck at poetry. We clearly have a lot of work to do,” </p><p>Before Mark can protest, or defend himself, Dejun is already on his way out of the building and Mark has no option other than to follow. </p><p>They find themselves at a coffee shop in the arts building. Dejun tells him it’s the prime place for inspiration to strike since the walls are decorated with paintings and inspiring quotes. If you ask Mark, he thinks they’re corny. </p><p>Somewhere along the session, Dejun forces Mark to put his laptop away and pushes a blank piece of paper and some markers towards him. Like he’s a five year old. </p><p>They’re there for almost an hour. Dejun goes over the concepts they’d learned in class and Mark doesn’t know how to tell him that he knows what a metaphor is, he just didn’t know how to use them. Nor did he care to. </p><p>“This is hopeless,” Mark complains, leaning back against his chair. </p><p>“Only because you aren’t trying,” Dejun replies, “Here, why don’t you try writing something before we get working on the assignment, for practice.”</p><p>He stares solemnly at the empty sheet of paper. </p><p>“What am I even supposed to write about?”</p><p>Dejun shrugs,  his own notebook is open to a blank page, save for where he was doodling butterflies in the margins.</p><p>“Anything. What’s something you care about?”</p><p>Mark perks up, “Like current events? I care about a lot of them but I guess my main concern right now would be–”</p><p>“No, silly,” the other boy replies with a giggle, “You need to dig deeper then current events, try for something more personal,”</p><p>“Social issues can be personal.”</p><p>“I guess they can be,” Dejun muses, “but it’s not <em> everything, </em>sometimes it’s okay to step back and think about other things,”</p><p>Mark rests his head against his palm, watching the boy across from him in contemplation. Dejun’s staring back with the same sort of intensity, twirling his pen between his fingers.</p><p>“My friends?” Mark offers, “I care about them, otherwise I wouldn’t be trying to make nice with you,” </p><p>Dejun scoffs, Mark sends a teasing wink his way.</p><p>“My little brother,” Mark adds, “And my cat,”</p><p>“Write about that then,”</p><p>“My cat?” </p><p>Dejun shrugs, “Or your friends, or your brother. Art can be created from anything,” he says with an air of pretentiousness. </p><p>Mark stares back down at the empty sheet of paper, “I suppose I can do that,” </p><p>“Perfect,” Dejun says , slinging his bag over his shoulders, “Finish it by tomorrow, I have to get going.”</p><p>Mark frowns as Dejun stands up, “You’re leaving already? But we haven’t even started the assignment,” </p><p>“I have an idea for the assignment,” Dejun says, “I’ll pick you up from your place tomorrow so we can work on it,”</p><p>“So you’re assigning me this as homework?” </p><p>Dejun leans over and pat Mark’s forehead condescendingly, “Have it on my desk by 8:00am,” </p><p>Mark pushes his hand away, scowling. Dejun giggles, waving goodbye as he leaves. </p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Mark is unpleasantly woken up by his ringtone. Making his ringtone a <em> Red Velvet </em>song seemed like a good idea at the time, but right now, Mark wanted to curse out every single producer that worked on that song. He groans, blindly reaching for his phone and answers it.</p><p>“What the hell do you want?” he all but growls to whoever was calling. </p><p>“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” an amused voice replies to him. </p><p>Mark’s eyes shoot open, he blurrily looks at the caller I.D. <em> Dickhead from class.  </em></p><p>“Dejun?” </p><p>“Yes, hello Mark, I’m outside your apartment,” </p><p>Mark sits up, “You’re what?” the time on his alarm clock reads 8:00am. On the dot. “I thought you were kidding when you said homework was due at eight,” </p><p>“I was– mostly,” Dejun replies, “I planned a whole day of activities for us today, so get up and get ready, we have a long drive ahead of us.”</p><p><em> “Dejun,” </em>Mark groans, “How are so cheery this early in the morning,” </p><p>“Waking up early builds character,” he says, “Explains why yours is so weak,” </p><p>Mark doesn’t even have the energy to think of a snarky remark. </p><p>“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he grumbles.</p><p>“Make it fifteen!” Dejun replies brightly. </p><p>Mark gets ready in fifteen minutes, but waits an extra five just to annoy Dejun. The boy was parked on the street across from Mark’s apartment building. He looks up from his phone when Mark rips his car door open.</p><p>“You’re insufferable,” is the first thing Mark says to him. </p><p>And of course—<em> of-fucking-course </em>—he looks amazing first thing in the morning. Not a single strand of hair out of place or a single wrinkle in his blue button up. Meanwhile, Mark threw on the pair of jeans lying on his floor and had to wrangle his hair into his hoodie. </p><p>“Aren’t you just a delight first thing in the morning?” Dejun comments.</p><p>Mark rolls his eyes, “So what was your grand plan for today?” </p><p>His eyes light up excitedly and he claps his hands together. <em> Cute, </em>Mark thinks begrudgingly. </p><p>“Okay so, I don’t know if you’ve already looked at our assignment brief, I’m just going to assume you haven’t–”</p><p>“<em> Hey,” </em>Mark cut in, offended, “I looked at it!” </p><p>Dejun raises one of his stupid eyebrows–– has Mark mentioned that he finds them stupid?</p><p>“We have to pick a setting and write a story about it,” Mark said. </p><p>Now, both of Dejun’s eyebrows shoot up. Mark smiles smugly.</p><p>“Sorry for assuming,” he replies, sounding completely unapologetic, “But given your track record…”</p><p>“Alright we get it,” Mark said.</p><p>Dejun grins and then continues, “So I was thinking we go to some of our favourite places and write there,” </p><p>Mark hums, “That’s actually a good idea,”</p><p>“I’m choosing to ignore the surprise in your voice,” Dejun says, “The botanical gardens are first on the agenda, next is wherever you like,”</p><p>Mark thinks about it. He thinks about last winter when neither he or Jeno could go home for winter break so they spent Christmas together at the beach. It was entirely unconventional since it was windy and all the food places that surrounded the beach were closed. But it was nice, cozy. They exchanged christmas presents by the ocean and ate sandwiches from the supermarket. </p><p>“We could go to the beach,” </p><p>“Mark, it’s the dead of winter,” Dejun says, unamused. </p><p>“Then wear your jacket,” Mark snipes back, “It’ll be fun, we can get ice cream,” </p><p>Dejun sighs, starting the engine, “Fine but I better not get frostbite.” </p><p> </p><p>The botanical gardens are blooming during this time of the year. As soon as they step out of the car, Mark is hit with the potent aroma of flowers. The word <em> garden </em>severely undersells it. A white arch runs through the middle of the gardens, flowers surrounding it. Large white walls border the entire place, green vines crawling up the sides. The flowers are beautiful too, bursting with a palette of orange, yellows and whites. </p><p>“I come here whenever I’m stressed,” Dejun explains as they walk through the arch, “So I’m pretty much here all the time,” </p><p>“It’s really peaceful,” Mark says, “I can see why it’s one of your favourite places,” </p><p>It turns out Dejun’s brain is an archive of floriography, <em> “I speak the language of the flowers,” </em>he says in a manner so pompous that Mark can’t resist making fun of him for it. As they walk along the stone path, Dejun picks out flowers that he recognises and explains their meanings. Mark hands onto every word he says without realising. </p><p>“These ones are my favourite,” Dejun says, when they reach the display of white lilacs. He sits down, patting the concrete next to him for Mark to follow. “People usually put white lilacs on graves, the scent is supposed to mask the scent of death,”</p><p>“That’s why it’s your favourite?” Mark asks, taken off guard, “That’s dark, dude,” </p><p>Dejun giggles, it’s a sweet sound, rivaling the songbirds that flew above them. </p><p>“That’s not why,” he says, “It’s said to have magical qualities too, keeps out evil spirits,”</p><p>“Oh that’s cool,” Mark says, “The smell is super strong, it would keep me out too,” </p><p>“Exactly,” Dejun said, eyes twinkling, “Evil spirit,” </p><p>That pulls a laugh out of Mark. He stands up, holding his hand out to help Dejun up. The boy rolls his eyes but takes it anyway, pulling himself up. </p><p>“Is that what you write about?” Mark asks as they continue walking, “Spirits and stuff?”</p><p>Dejun snorts, “Sometimes, I usually write stories about mythical creatures. You know, magical realism and what not,”</p><p>His tone is casual but there’s something about the expression he’s wearing. The way his eyes shine with passion when he talks about his writing. <em> Christ. </em> Mark feels guilty for acting like such a dick in the beginning. Maybe <em> he </em>was the pretentious one. </p><p>“Hey, uh,” he says, grabbing Dejun’s attention away from the white narcissus flowers, “I’m sorry I was so mean to you when we first met, and all the times after that,”</p><p>Dejun’s eyes widen, “What’s this?” he teases, “A genuine apology from Mark Lee?”</p><p>“Oh shut up,” Mark says, shoving his arm, “I can be sincere,”</p><p>“I don’t doubt that,” Dejun replies, “I’m sorry too, I wasn’t nice either,”</p><p>“Yeah but I deserved it,” Mark says, “I have a tendency to get insecure when people are better than me at things and it translates into aggression,” </p><p>Dejun whistles lowly, “There’s a lot to unpack there buddy, you sound like a shrink,”</p><p>“Thanks,” Mark replies with a grin, “I’m literally quoting my therapist,” </p><p>“I don’t believe in therapy,” Dejun says airily, “I just write out my feelings and never talk about them again,”</p><p>He moves to sit on one of the benches, Mark follows. </p><p>“For your sake, I hope you’re joking,” he replies.</p><p>“Partially,” Dejun says, shrugging,  “Let’s just agree to leave our conflict behind us and start fresh, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Mark says, sticking his hand out for a handshake, “Truce? For real this time,”</p><p>Dejun laughs, shaking Mark’s hand. “Truce.”</p><p>Dejun reaches into his satchel, pulling out two notebooks, one of which mark recognised as the tattered leather bound one that belonged to Dejun.</p><p>“I got this for you,” he says, handing Mark the second notebook, it was bright pink and had a drawing of a cat in the middle, “I know you prefer writing on your laptop but sometimes it’s nice to physically write stuff down, gather your thoughts a little bit,”</p><p>Mark takes the book gratefully, admiring the kitty on the cover, “Thanks Dejun, I’ll make sure to use it,”</p><p>They sit there for a while, on the wooden bench while Dejun pulls the pen out from behind his ear and starts writing down ideas for the assignment. Truth be told, Mark isn’t getting much inspiration from the botanical gardens. Sure, it’s pretty, but it brings no desire to write–– no <em> spark. </em>To Mark, they’re just colourful flowers. All he does is doodle flowers into his brand new notebook and secretly look up from time to time to watch Dejun. Mark blames it on fascination and nothing else. It’s the way he’s immersed into his work, the way the sunlight glows across his skin. How he’ll occasionally look up, lean his hand against his palm and stare back at the gardens, lost in thought. Dejun is an intriguing character. That’s all it is. </p><p> </p><p>The beach is mostly empty so it’s easy for Dejun to find parking. As soon as they step outside the car, Mark is hit with cold winds and the smell of the ocean. Mark closes his eyes and breathes the smell in. When he opens them, Dejun is scowling at him and huddling into his leather jacket. </p><p>“You’re a weirdo for this,” he says. </p><p>“Oh hush,” Mark replies, looking out at the ocean, “The beach is lovely this time of the year, it’s always empty and the water looks so clear,” </p><p>Dejun hums and follows Mark’s gaze, they watch the ocean from the parking lot for a while. </p><p>“I guess I see the appeal,” Dejun says finally, “I brought a picnic basket, should we set up on the sand?” </p><p>Mark hums, thinking it over, “I have a better idea,”</p><p>They take a walk across the beach, narrowing avoiding the tide going in and out as wet sand sticks to their shoes. Dejun huddles closer to Mark, trying to take whatever warmth he could from the boy. He clearly wasn’t made for the cold. </p><p>When the tide comes by Mark’s feet, he dips his fingers in to test the water. The ice cold ocean hits his skin like an electric shock, the water is <em> freezing. </em>He dips his hand back in scoops up some water, throwing it in Dejun’s direction. The boy yelps, scrambling away.</p><p><em> “Dickhead!” </em>he yells.</p><p>Mark bursts out laughing, the water had barely touched the other boy’s jeans. </p><p>“You’re such a scaredy cat,” Mark says through bouts of laughter. </p><p>Dejun glares, it’s no longer scary to Mark. He just looks like a disgruntled kitten. </p><p>“I regret ever agreeing to help you with creative writing,” he says, crossing his arms. </p><p>“I find that hard to believe,” Mark says, “If anything, I made your life brighter,” </p><p>“Please, you are nothing but the dark storm cloud that follows me around,” </p><p>“That’s <em> so </em> romantic,” Mark teases, “Oh Dejun, I do love it when you wax poetry about me,” </p><p><em> “Shut up,” </em>Dejun grumbles. He shoves Mark’s shoulder, and it must be harder than he intended to because the boy stumbles over his own feet, eyes widening as he loses balance. He’s about to fall backwards into the water when Dejun grabs his arm, pulling him forward. </p><p>They are close. Way too close for it to be friendly. Mark stares into Dejun’s panicked eyes, it's quiet for a moment. And then he coughs awkwardly. </p><p>“Uh, thanks,” he says,</p><p>This seems to bring Dejun back to reality. He blinks and then looks back down at his own hand, still gripped tight around Mark’s arm. He lets go. </p><p>“Can’t have you die of hypothermia on my watch,” he says, avoiding Mark’s eyes, “Yukhei would be pissed,” </p><p>“Right,” Mark says, “We should keep walking, we still have some distance to cover,” </p><p> </p><p>Mark takes Dejun to one of the more secluded areas at the beach. A cosy corner right at the end of the beach, where you could sit on the rocks and watch the ocean. They lay the picnic blanket across one of the bigger rocks, and take out the food that Dejun made.</p><p>“This is surprisingly pleasant,” Dejun says. </p><p>“Told you,” Mark replies, leaning back on his arms as he watches the still water. In the distance, he can see the city. </p><p>“I’m freezing my ass off,” Dejun adds, “But it’s pleasant.” </p><p>Mark rolls his eyes, “You’re just weak,”</p><p>Dejun pokes the side of Mark’s thigh with his foot, “You getting anything from this?”</p><p>Mark tears his eyes away from the view and back down at his opened notebook. </p><p>“My hometown is a beach town,” Mark begins, “I was obsessed with the ocean growing up, I was even convinced that I was a mermaid,”</p><p>Dejun chuckles, “So you do have an imagination,”</p><p>“I guess,” Mark muses, “Maybe I’ll write a story about mermaids,”</p><p>Dejun shuffles closer to Mark, until their legs are almost touching. </p><p>“That’s a good idea,” he says.</p><p>Mark turns his head to face Dejun, “I figured I could take a page from your magical realism book,” </p><p>He’s close enough to notice the way Dejun’s eyes soften at his words.</p><p>“What are you waiting for, then?” Dejun says quietly, “Get to writing,”</p><p>The cold air pricks at Mark’s skin and he’s pretty sure his hands are too numb to pick up his pen. But Dejun is warm where his legs are touching Mark’s and he moves even closer. Warmth is radiating off the other boy and Mark is tempted to lean into it. He doesn’t, though.</p><p>Instead, he picks up his pen and begins a rough outline for his assignment. It’s strange, the sudden jolt of inspiration that overcomes him. The fact that he actually <em> wants </em>to write something rather than scribble down rhyming words and call it day. It’s the same feeling Mark gets when he finds an idea for an article that really speaks to him. It’s a feeling that he can’t get enough of. </p><p> </p><p>Mark is about to spend his third day in a row with Dejun. He realises while he’s cleaning his room for the other boy––which he never does for anyone, <em> ever–– </em>that he doesn’t mind spending all this time with Dejun. He may even enjoy it. </p><p>It’s 8:00pm on a Friday night and they are getting together to <em> write. </em>Mark has never felt like this much of a nerd in his life. But their assignment is due on Sunday night so this is as good a time as any. He walks out to the living room to find Jeno cooking something in the kitchen.</p><p>“Dejun’s coming over soon,” he informs his roommate. </p><p>Jeno whirls around, abandoning his pot at the stove, “What?”</p><p>Mark raises an eyebrow, “Dejun is coming over, I told you this morning,”</p><p>“<em> No,” </em>Jeno insists, “You told me you were hanging out with Dejun, I assumed you were going out,”</p><p>“Okay?” Mark replies, confused,“What difference does it make?” </p><p>Jeno looks sheepish, Mark belatedly realises that the boy is much too dressed up for someone who was supposedly spending their Friday night lounging at home. A maxi skirt and a shirt cropped enough to show just a sliver of skin. </p><p>“I invited a girl over,” he says. </p><p>Mark groans, <em> “Dude, </em>come on,” </p><p>He should’ve known as soon as he caught sight of Jeno at the kitchen. He never cooks. </p><p>Jeno pouts, and Mark can’t believe he’s pouting over his dick appointment. Actually scratch that, he can. </p><p>“Please let me have the apartment,” he says, big eyes widening, “It’ll just be this one time,” </p><p>Mark sends him an incredulous look, “You said this last week when you kicked me out for some guy,”</p><p>“I’ll pay for the groceries this week,” </p><p>Mark narrows his eyes, “Even for my expensive name-brand gelato?”</p><p>Jeno sighs, “Fine,” </p><p>“Then we have a deal,” Mark says with a grin. </p><p>There’s a knock on the door. </p><p>“That’s probably Dejun,” Jeno says, “Yeji isn’t coming by until later,” </p><p>Mark walks over to the door, grabbing his keys from the counter and bidding Jeno goodbye. When he opens at it, Dejun is smiling at him, signature satchel over his shoulder. </p><p>“Hey,” Mark greets, “so there’s been a change of plans,” </p><p>He ushers Dejun outside as he closes his apartment door behind him. </p><p>“My roommate is having someone over, can we go to your place instead?”</p><p>Dejun frowns, “We can’t, Yukhei’s my roommate and he invited Donghyuck over,”</p><p>Mark groans. He really hates college kids. </p><p>“I can’t believe our grades are doomed because of our horny friends,” </p><p>Dejun giggles, “The libraries are all closed but we can try find a cafe on campus or something,”</p><p>Mark hums, twirling his keys around his fingers while he thinks about it. The spare key for the school paper office that Renjun gave him glints under the hallway light. </p><p>“I know a spot,” he says. </p><p>The office, Mark decides, is way creepier at night. It’s eerie without the usual rush of hustling students, struggling to meet the deadline. Dead quiet in a way that’s unsettling. He leads the way through the main office and into the editor’s office, Dejun trailing closely behind him. </p><p>“I told you this place is intimidating,” Dejun mumbles as Mark unlocks the door. </p><p>“You’re not scared, are you?” Mark teases. </p><p>He turns the light on, yellow brightening up the office and making it look more friendly. </p><p>Dejun scoffs, “I’ve written enough horror short stories to be immune to them by now,” </p><p>Mark settles on the leather couch, taking his laptop out and balancing it on his knees. Dejun sits next to him, legs crossed on top of the couch. </p><p>“You’ll have to let me read one of your stories one day,” Mark says. </p><p>“Well,” Dejun begins, his cheeks dust with pink, “I publish some of them on a blog,” </p><p>Mark’s eyes widen, “That’s so cool, what’s it called?”</p><p>His blush seems to deepen, “I’ll just send you the link to it later,” he says, shyly. Mark doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dejun be <em> shy </em>about anything. This was an interesting new development. </p><p>“Your sudden perspective change on expressive writing is refreshing,” Dejun adds, “And slightly unnerving,” </p><p>Mark looks at the boy, a small smile playing on his lips, “What can I say? I met a boy who made some very convincing arguments,” </p><p>Dejun’s eyes are very expressive, Mark realises. At his words, they shine with fondness. His chest fills with warmth at the sight. </p><p>“We should get started,” Dejun says, “Your mermaids aren’t going to write themselves,” </p><p>The pair work well together. They bounce ideas off each other, going from periods of loud chatting to quiet moments where nothing is heard but typing. Writing creatively is something Mark isn’t used to, he doesn’t like that it makes him this insecure. But Dejun is helpful, with his gentle reassurances and blunt feedback. It’s the perfect balance of exactly what Mark needs. He’s surprised to find that Dejun asks him for feedback too. He pauses and occasionally asks if a sentence flows right or has the right kind of imagery. It’s nice how much Dejun valued his opinion. </p><p>“Let’s take a break,” Mark announces, shutting his laptop with a satisfying slam. </p><p>Dejun barely glances up from his own laptop, “I bought snacks, entertain yourself,” </p><p>Mark huffs, he leans over and pushes Dejun’s laptop screen down, just to be annoying. Dejun scowls up at him. He tries to push his screen back up but to no avail, Mark is stronger. He sighs, giving up. </p><p>“Fine, let’s take a break.” </p><p>The break lasts longer than expected. The two of them easily distracted and getting lost in their own conversation. Everything flows so naturally with Dejun, whether it’s writing together, talking or even their shared taste in snack foods. He’s never had a friendship that felt quite like this one. There’s something different about it; something more charged. Mark just can’t pinpoint what. </p><p>The night grows older and Mark feels his eyes getting heavy. He’s completely abandoned his laptop to the floor now, his legs stretched across the couch while he leaned into Dejun’s side. He leaned in unconsciously and Dejun didn’t pull away, so Mark stayed. </p><p>He lets out a loud yawn, Dejun giggles. </p><p>“Maybe we should head back,” </p><p>Getting up right now is the last thing Mark wants to do. </p><p>“In a bit,” he mumbles, his eyes slowly coming to a close. The last thing he feels before he drifts off to sleep is Dejun pulling him closer. </p><p> </p><p>Mark wakes up to a familiar voice––<em> voices.  </em></p><p>
  <em> “Oh my fucking god,” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Is that Yukhei’s friend? With Mark?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What are they doing here?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Do you think they––?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “In my fucking office?!”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “At least their clothes are on,” </em>
</p><p>Mark pries his eyes open and notices two things. One, he’s lying on something very warm and it groans as he shifts. Two, Renjun and Jaemin standing there, watching him with contrasting expressions. Jaemin looks impressed, maybe a little proud. Renjun looks mildly disgusted. </p><p>Mark blinks blearily at them, still coming to full consciousness. He’s perfectly aware of what–– <em> who </em> he is laying on. He’s just afraid to confront it. </p><p>He’s half laying on Dejun, his head resting against the boy’s chest while there is an arm wrapped tightly around his waist. Mark has no idea how they crammed together on this tiny couch. His back is going to be aching for days. He looks up at Dejun to find brown eyes staring back at him. </p><p>“Hey,” Mark croaks out, unsure of what to say. </p><p>Dejun’s eyes widen, and then realisation settles in, “Hi,” </p><p>Mark is quick to get up, not keen on making this situation more awkward then it already is. He sits up on the furthest end of the couch, rubbing at his eyes. Dejun is quick to follow, his blonde hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s blinking slowly, as if still trying to wake up. Mark smiles softly, he’s cute in the mornings. </p><p>Renjun clears his throat before Mark can even confront his own traitorous thoughts. </p><p>“Why the hell are you two in my office?” Renjun demands, next to him, Jaemin giggles. </p><p>“You gave me the key,” Mark says simply. </p><p>“For emergencies,” Renjun says, crossing his arms, “Not for booty calls,”</p><p>Mark’s cheeks set ablaze, <em> “This wasn’t a booty call!”  </em></p><p>His defence only sets Jaemin off into a fit of loud laughter. He scowls, patting down his cheeks as if that will help cool down the red. </p><p>Dejun swoops in to help, “We both got sexiled from our apartments so we came here to study, it got pretty late and we fell asleep,” </p><p>“Well that’s boring,” Jaemin comments, oh so helpfully. This is what Mark meant earlier when he said he still has beef with Jaemin. </p><p>Renjun sighs, “At least I don’t have to throw out the couch,”</p><p>Mark stands up, grabbing his discarded bag and laptop from the floor. “This was a lovely encounter,” he says sarcastically, “But Dejun and I will get going now,” </p><p>He gestures for Dejun to follow. The boy smiles timidly at him and picks up his own satchel. </p><p>Renjun stops Mark by grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. </p><p>“Not so fast,” he says, “Our meeting starts in five minutes,” </p><p>Mark groans. The meeting completely slipped his mind. He didn’t even prepare a pitch for a new article. He turns to Dejun and sends an apologetic smile his way. </p><p>“It’s fine,” Dejun says waving him off, “You’re good to finish the assignment by yourself right?” </p><p>Mark nods, “Yeah, I’ve got your feedback to work off,”</p><p>“That’s good,” he continues, “Email me the doc if you need more help,” </p><p>“I will!” Mark says, “Thanks for last night,” </p><p>He blanches, realising how <em> that </em> sounds. Dejun coughs awkwardly. This really isn’t Mark’s morning. </p><p>“Um– I mean, you know,” he tries. </p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Dejun says with a smile, “Text you later, Mark,” </p><p>He waves goodbye before he turns and walks out of the office. </p><p>“Real smooth, Mark,” Renjun comments.</p><p>Mark lets out a troubled sigh, his face heats up once more. What a disaster. </p><p> </p><p>They get their grades back two weeks later. Mark is at Dejun’s apartment, they’re watching some French movie that Dejun insists he has to watch at least once before he dies. Mark is having a little trouble following the plot, but the main character is attractive and that’s enough to keep him engaged. </p><p>They hang out now. Regularly. It’s a <em> thing. </em>Don’t ask Mark about it because it will stress him out. </p><p>Both their phones go off at the same time, Dejun is too immersed in the movie to notice. Mark reaches over to check his phone. It’s an email notification. </p><p>“Our grades are posted,” he says, eyes still trained to his phone. </p><p>Dejun whips his head over, eyes widening. He pauses the movie. </p><p>“Let’s check it together,” he says gently. </p><p>Because Dejun knows that Mark has been agonising over his grades. He knows Mark submitted a piece of work that he’s actually proud of. He knows that this is important to Mark. </p><p>So they check together. </p><p>“Oh my god,” Mark says, standing up suddenly, “I got a B!” </p><p>“Holy shit,” Dejun says standing up as well, “That’s wonderful Mark, I’m so proud of you,”</p><p>In the fog of his excitement, Mark pulls Dejun in for a hug. His arms wrap around the boy’s torso and he hooks his head over Dejun’s shoulder. Dejun hugs back just as tightly. It’s warm, comforting. A fire grows in the pit of his stomach and he’s overcome with a strange feeling. Mark has hugged his friends before, Jeno is a firm believer in showering your friends with affection. But this felt different. When he pulls away, he feels breathless. </p><p>“Should we keep watching?” Dejun offers, and he sounds shy again. </p><p>Mark nods and sits back down. Silently willing his heartbeat to calm down.</p><p> </p><p>When Mark gets home that night, he feels like his head is in a haze. He’s had the entire walk home from Dejun’s place to overthink. He’s confused–– and also mildly freaking out. A million emotions course through him when he thinks about Dejun. Spending time with him always left Mark feeling warm inside, he was content just being with him. Dejun was just so understanding, how he could easily read Mark despite only knowing him for a short amount of time. He was challenging too, sharp tongued and blunt in a way that Mark loved. Being his friend was lovely, but it didn’t feel like that was all it was. It didn’t feel like enough––</p><p>Well, fuck. </p><p>He’s standing outside the front door of his apartment when it dawns on him. He has <em> feelings. </em>How horrifying. He takes out his key and opens his front door with shaking hands. When he enters, he goes straight for Jeno’s room. His best friend will know what to do. </p><p>He unceremoniously barges into Jeno’s room.</p><p>“I’m having a crisis–– <em> oh my fucking god!” </em></p><p>Being roommates with someone as <em> active </em> as Jeno, means that Mark has walked into a few unpleasant situations where he’s found the boy in compromising positions. But it was always with strangers. Never with someone Mark knew. And <em> definitely </em>never with one of his other best friends. </p><p>Renjun and Jeno pull away immediately. Faces flushed and panting heavily. Both their shirts are off, but thank the heavens, their pants are still on. Mark shakes himself out of his shock, turning around quickly and covering his eyes. </p><p>“Mark!” Jeno says, his voice is raspy but his annoyed tone still shines through, “Ever heard of knocking?”</p><p>“Sorry!” he replies, eyes still shut as he tries to burn the image of his best friends going at each other out of his brain, “I was distracted when I walked in so I forgot to knock,” </p><p>“You can turn around now,” Jeno says, “We’re decent.”</p><p>He turns back around, giving them both a sheepish smile. </p><p>“Hey, Renjun,” he says, waving awkwardly, “Fancy seeing you here,”</p><p>Renjun looks embarrassed, and he’s flushed red from the top of his face to past his neck. That doesn’t stop him from returning Mark’s comment with a quip of his own. </p><p>“Fancy seeing <em> you </em>without Dejun hanging off your arm,” </p><p>This only reminds Mark of what he came into the room for. The distraction was nice while it lasted. </p><p>He sighs forlornly and moves to sit on the bed.</p><p>“While I have so many questions about whatever <em> this </em>is,” Mark gestures to the pair, they both exchange a panicked look, “I am in the middle of a full blown crisis,”</p><p>Jeno shifts to sit closer to Mark, “What’s going on?”</p><p>He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes, “I think I have a crush on Dejun,” </p><p>He’s met with silence. He cracks his eyes open to find the other two staring at him like they were waiting for him to continue. </p><p>“That’s it?” Jeno asks, “That’s what you interrupted us for?”</p><p>“Yes!” Mark says indignantly, “It’s quite the jarring realisation so I would like some kind of reaction,” </p><p>“Mark,” Jeno says, a hand on his thigh, “This isn’t surprising to anyone,” </p><p>He looks from Jeno to Renjun, who just nods. </p><p>Mark can hear Dejun’s voice echoing in his head, <em> “Congratulations, you’re officially the last to know.” </em></p><p>“Damn,” Mark mutters, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”</p><p>“Confess?” Renjun offers.</p><p>“Terrible idea,” Mark says, “When have I ever talked about my feelings in my entire life?”</p><p>“Good point,” </p><p>“This is awful,” Mark whines, “He probably doesn’t even like me back, and I’ll have to live with this stupid crush for the rest of my life,” </p><p>He’s sure he hears Renjun mutter <em> “dramatic” </em>under his breath but he chooses to ignore it. </p><p>“This is not awful,” Jeno says, voice firm but gentle, “Maybe talking isn’t your strong point but writing is, right? Why don’t you write out your confession and get all your feelings out. You don’t have to show it to Dejun but at least you’ll have an outlet,”</p><p>Mark thinks it over. It’s a good idea and he has nothing to lose.</p><p>“I think I can do that,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>Mark Lee hasn’t had any sleep. But he does have one page of a written confession clutched in his trembling hands. It’s eight in the morning and he’s standing outside Dejun’s apartment. He’s spent the entire night writing and rewriting, trying to convey <em> everything </em>into words. As soon as he finished, he just knew he needed to tell Dejun. There’s no way he could keep this to himself. He knocks on the door. The few minutes it takes for Dejun to open it feels like a lifetime. </p><p>“Mark?” the boy croaks out, he’s squinting at Mark through his glasses. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>He swallows nervously, “I have something to tell you. Did I wake you?”</p><p>Dejun shakes his head, “I was up, just in bed. Come in,” </p><p>He makes way for Mark to enter, he walks quickly into the living area.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Dejun asks, “You seem jittery, more so than usual,”</p><p>His grip tightens around the sheet of paper in his hand. Might as well get this over with soon. Act now, be embarrassed later. </p><p>“I’m going to read something to you,” he says, holding up the paper, “But you need to promise not to say anything until I’m done,”</p><p>Dejun’s eyes are curious, it’s clear he wants to ask more. But he simply sits down on the couch, patting space next to him for Mark to take. </p><p>“Go ahead,” </p><p>Mark takes a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>Dearest, Dejun Xiao,</p><p>I hope this letter finds you (un)well. </p><p>When we first met, you lit a fire inside of me. I don’t mean this in a good way, you irritated me, made my blood boil, I wanted nothing more than to slap those eyebrows right off your face. </p><p>
  <em> “Aren’t letters supposed to be romantic?” Dejun says through giggles.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Mark scowls, “What did I say about interrupting me,”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Shutting up now,”  </em>
</p><p>But even through the fog of our antagonism, you seemed to really get me. You told me truths I was afraid of hearing and the fire inside me burned brighter. I tend to be a coward at times. But you, you’re unafraid, you walk the earth like it’s smaller than you. It’s something I admire about you. </p><p>While petty arguments and pulling each other’s figurative pigtails was fun. I preferred it when we got closer, when we became friends. Our friendship is as beautiful as you are. I like the way you challenge me, I like the way you let me be vulnerable, I like how you understand me. We may have stopped fighting, but the fire inside me never died down. It only grew stronger. </p><p>We’re friends now. But it isn’t friendly that when our hands brush together when we walk down the street, I want to link them together and never let go. It isn’t friendly when you argue with me, I want to lean in and kiss the pink off your cheeks. It isn’t friendly that I want to trace your cheekbones, gaze into your starry eyes and kiss you until you forget your name. </p><p>I’m falling for you, Dejun Xiao. And it feels like falling into the ocean in the dead of winter. It’s terrifying. It’s electrifying. It feels right. I’m absolutely smitten and I don’t think that fire is burning out anytime soon. I hope you’ll let me take you out on a date. </p><p>Love, your greatest match and biggest enemy, Mark Lee. </p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet when Mark finishes. Dejun stares at him wordlessly, frozen in an expression that Mark can not read. He says nothing but he reaches forward and holds Mark’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. He says nothing but his eyes are shining with unshed tears. </p><p>“I can’t believe you wrote all that,” he whispers, “No one has ever done anything like that for me before,” </p><p>“I’m not really good at talking so…” Mark trails off, looking downward. </p><p>There’s a hand tilting his chin upwards. He’s looking back into Dejun’s eyes. </p><p>“I’m falling for you too,” he says firmly, “I like you an insane amount and it’s seriously thrown me off guard. This all feels very unreal,” </p><p>“Oh it’s very real,” Mark says weakly, “Although I am extremely sleep-deprived so there’s a fair chance I’m hallucinating,” </p><p>Dejun giggles, oh how Mark wants to drown in it. </p><p>“You’re not hallucinating,” he says, his hand moves to hold the side of Mark’s face. His touch on Mark is gentle, unsure. Mark leans into it. </p><p>“Can I kiss you?” Dejun asks. </p><p>Rather than answering, Mark leans in and seals their lips together. He frees his hand from Dejun’s grasp so he can cup the boy’s face with both hands. Dejun’s hands sneak around his waist, he pulls Mark closer and deepens their kiss. It’s electrifying. He could do this for the rest of his life. </p><p>They pull away at the same time, leaning their foreheads together. </p><p>“This means you have to take me out on a date,” Dejun says breathlessly. </p><p>Mark giggles and leans forward. He presses a kiss in the space between Dejun’s eyebrows, just because he can. </p><p>“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he says, “But not right now because I’ve had zero sleep and desperately need a nap,” </p><p>Dejun pulls away, Mark tries not to whine about it. He stands up from the couch and holds his hand out for Mark to take. </p><p>“Come on, then,” he says, “Let’s go nap.” </p><p> </p>
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